


Return to Mt. Washington

by orphan



Series: Nerd Boys and Wendibros [5]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Gore, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Scent Marking, Wendigo Josh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan/pseuds/orphan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years later, or thereabouts. Is going back to the mountain a good idea? Hells no. Is everyone going to do it anyway? Of course they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “Holy shit he got ripped.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Do de. Do de do de do. Up on melancholy hill...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04mfKJWDSzI)

The beard is the first thing she notices.

“Ash! I’m so glad you could make it!”

The beard is the first thing, but it’s not the last. Not when Chris takes the two big steps to close the gap between them, not when his arms are wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her against a broad chest barely hidden beneath an old flannel and a too-small tshirt.

 _Holy shit he got ripped,_  thinks Ash’s brain, even as she tries to be a Good Girl and return Chris’ hug in the most platonic way possible. 

It’s been nearly two years since Chris went up Mount Washington—both figuratively and literally—and never came back down. It’s not like they don’t chat with each other nearly every day—Facebook and Snapchat and WhatsApp and all the rest—but they haven’t  _seen_  each other. Ash hasn’t had her hands on Chris’ shoulders, hasn’t had her cheek pressed against his. He’s bigger than she remembers, firm and solid beneath his clothes, and hairier, and “You look really great,” she ends up saying, maybe unwisely.

Chris just grins the same dopey grin Ash fell in love with, what feels like a lifetime ago, as he steps back. “Thanks,” he says. “Blame Josh. Eating lean protein and lugging deer carcasses around all day does a body good. Who would’ve though?”

 _Josh…_  Ash tries a laugh, thinks she gets it mostly right. “Where is the man of the house, anyway?”

Chris points upwards, at the sky. “Dead to the world for another few hours at least,” he says. “Josh doesn’t really do daylight nowadays, so this is, like, his 3am. He’ll probably wake up around five, six o’clock, but will be wendigo-y. He humans-up about ten, then he’ll crash again at dawn.”

Chris says this all smooth and easy, smiling the whole time, as if nothing is unusual. For him, Ash supposes that it isn’t.

“’Wendigo-y’?” And if her heart trips a little at the word, then who could blame her?

Not Chris, judging from his laugh, and the way he reaches for her bags. “Here, let me take those.” Then: “Don’t expect many coherent sentences or much blinking. He also gets really cuddly but”—another laugh—“you probably won’t have to worry about that one.” He gives her a smile, big and bright and untroubled. Ash tries to return it.

* * *

She’s the last to arrive. Chris gives her a brief tour of the new lodge, so recently rebuilt she still catches the edge of fresh paint in the air. The place is huge and luxurious, but that’s about where the similarities with the old place end; where that had been heavy and conservative and dark, this is all modern minimalism and plate-glass windows. It’s bright, airy, and kind of amazing. Not the sort of house she was expecting.

“Wow,” Ash says, when Chris opens a door and the lights inside come on automatically.

“I know, right?” Chris says. “Fully automated. Lights, windows, everything. RFID in our watches so the house knows where we are.” He holds up his wrist to demonstrate. “It’s mostly for Josh. So he doesn’t end up accidentally blinding himself if he has to get up to pee and I’ve forgotten to turn off the lights in the bathroom.” A pause. “Also, I like programming the APIs.”

Ash grins, punches him in the arm. “Nerd.”

The room he takes her to is her bedroom, clean and neat and spartan, with an ensuite and a massive window overlooking the mountain. There are no curtains, but Chris shows her the button on the wall that turns the whole thing opaque then back again. “Smart glass,” he says, by way of explanation.

“That… sounds expensive.”

Chris shrugs. “Josh’s parents. I think his mom’s been on this  _Grand Designs_  kick, got me to download the whole show for her. I guess rebuilding this place was her excuse.”

Ash has not seen an episode of  _Grand Designs_ , but she has seen Melinda Washington’s Facebook posts. “Well, it’s pretty amazing,” she says, and means it. The house is, indeed, amazing.

It gets even more amazing when Chris takes her to where the others are waiting. It’s this huge sunken conversation room thing, more picture windows overlooking the mountain, surrounded by a ring-shaped white leather lounge dusted with blankets and fluffy pillows. There’s a huge TV on a wall between the windows, a fire pit beneath it, and Matt and Mike are busy arguing over how to correctly stack wood in the latter.

Ash accepts hugs from Emily and Jess and Sam, and waves from the two boys.

“Ashley!” Sam says. “It’s been too long!” Maybe it has been. Ash can’t remember the last time gang was all together like this. Or, rather, she can, and wishes she couldn’t.

And yet, here they are again. She wonders who’s going to get eaten this year, then hates herself a little for the thought.

* * *

She sits between Chris and Sam on the couch, talking about college and her parents and her ex. Her ex is the least interesting topic, but Emily won’t let it go. Ash is convinced Em just wants her to admit Adam was her rebound-Chris; big, soft-spoken, computer science major. It’s not like Emily is  _wrong_ , exactly, it’s just that Ash doesn’t feel the need to blurt it out. Not to mention the entire thing ended badly. Really badly.

“Look, all I’ll say,” Ash finally admits, “is that it turned out he owned a fedora.”

The girls react to this as if it’s a physical blow, leaning back with a chorus of “oooh”. Even Chris says, “Aw, man.”

Mike, meanwhile, pops in with a, “What’s wrong with fedoras?”

“I’ll tell you later honey,” Emily promises. From Mike’s expression, he takes this to mean it’s something dirty. Ash doesn’t have the heart to hint he’ll be disappointed.

“Don’t worry,” Jess says, leaning across Sam to get closer. “There’s always plenty more where he came from.” She doesn’t look at either Mike or Em when she says it.

* * *

At 5:06, the lights go dim. It happens so suddenly and so unannounced that Jess and Matt both give choked-back screams. Ash is mostly fascinated by the way the windows go from crystal clear to solid black, plunging the room into artificial twilight. Smart glass, indeed.

She doesn’t want to turn around. Especially not when Chris does, looking over his shoulder with a, “You’re awake early.”

“Lotta noise, bro.”

She knows that voice. They all do, even if it sounds different than they remember. Rougher, more slurred.

It’s Sam who moves first, squealing and vaulting over the back of the couch.

“Whoa, wait up—” Chris starts. Too late, and Ash can see Sam’s fuzzy reflection in the smart glass, arms thrown around too-thin shoulders, face buried against a too-pale neck.

Ash turns.

It’s not that she hasn’t seen photos. They all have. Not many, because nowadays Josh doesn’t like light and that includes camera flashes. But there’ve been enough that they know what to expect. Should know what to expect.

It occurs to Ash, as she watches what’s left of Joshua Washington awkwardly return Sam’s hug, that she did not know what to expect.

He’s too tall, which is her first weird thought. Josh never was, before, and now he doesn’t quite tower over Sam, but it’s close. He’s too tall and rail thin; long sleeved tshirt hanging from shoulders that seem made of pure bone, skinny jeans fitting like baggy skate-pants. He’s pale, too. Wendigo pale; a kind of sickly purple-green, mottled in the shadows of his once-bronze skin. He still has hair, which is something, though it’s a rats’ nest of loose curls. Ash is trying not to look too much at his mouth. At the scars. The teeth.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Sam is saying. Her voice is cracked, like she’s crying. Josh’s fingers are too-long where they curl just above her shoulders, tipped with massive claws. He has more sticking out beneath the ragged hem of his jeans.

He doesn’t say anything, just allows himself to be hugged for as long as Sam wants to hug him. After Sam, it’s Mike’s turn, with one of the hand-grasping brohugs boys do. “Hey, man,” he says. “Good to see you again. You look like fucking death.”

“You look like food,” Josh replies. Ash thinks he’s grinning, though it’s hard to tell beneath the teeth.

“Kinky,” says Mike. “Better ask your boyfriend’s permission first.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Chris says, laughing. Ash wonders what the joke’s supposed to be; Josh eating people? She tries not to notice how big his mouth is, tries not to wonder if he got the wendigo strength along with the body.

When they return to the couch, Josh sits on the far end, next to Chris, because of course he does. From Chris' other side, Ash tries not to be unsettled by Josh being so close. It’s not even all to do with the teeth and the claws and the unblinking stare. Josh was their friend, once, but Ashley still remembers being cold and hurt and terrified, paralyzed in a chair, watching Chris point a gun at his own head. Josh had done that, all on his own. No wendigos required.

 _“He remembers,”_  Chris had told her, an age ago now.  _“But it’s like he was a different person. He doesn’t understand why he did the things he did. It upsets him to think about it. So we don’t. I mean, his life is very… immediate now. I don’t think he really understands long-term planning. But he’s happy. There doesn’t seem to be any point in… in punishing him for the other stuff.”_

When Ashley dares to look, Josh is watching her from the far side of Chris, gaze green and flat and empty.

* * *

The rumbling starts twenty minutes later. Ash’s eyes dart around, looking for the source. When they meet Chris’, she gets a grin.

“Josh,” Chris says, barely audible. 

The man in question has his eyes closed, his face pressed against Chris’ neck.

“Purring?” Ash asks, voice as low as Chris’. 

She gets a nod in response, Chris’ hand reaching up to card through Josh’s hair. The rumbling sound intensifies, Josh stirring just enough to burrow himself deeper against Chris’ side. 

It’s… cute. Ashley won’t deny it. Josh purrs. Chris has mentioned this before. Now Ash has heard it.


	2. “What’s mine is yours, bro. Gotta share the kills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the breakfast club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PAe0WYM-XU)!

It’s harder than he expected it would be. So much food, so close. And Josh has been doing well up till now—not eating Chris, not eating the people who rebuilt the lodge, not eating his parents—but it’s a  _challenge_ , sitting here, surrounded by so much dumb and docile meat.

They’re his friends. He knows that. Still…

So he sits on the far side of Chris, Chris’ scent like a cage that keeps him grounded, helps his human-self hold back what his wendigo-self wants. Just a little taste. What’s a severed limb between friends? Remember that time you killed my sisters? I think this is the least you can offer in return. 

Josh bites down on that thought, hard. But there it is, still squirming in his teeth.

He tries to tell himself it’s because he came downstairs too early. It’s not full-dark outside yet, and he’s tired; can feel the edges of exhaustion leaving gashes across his self-control. He dozes without meaning to, eyes sliding shut, lulled into darkness by Chris’ warmth and the bass rumble of his laughter. Laughing at something Ashley’s saying.

He’s still hot for her; Josh can smell it on him. A rush of blood, a prickle of sweat. Ashley is warm and soft and human. She has fingernails instead of claws, neat blunt teeth instead of a jagged, drooling maw. She could kiss Chris, could suck him off. She could…

Chris’ fingers card through Josh’s hair, rubbing gently against the bony nubs where his antlers grow. It feels good when he does that, feels better when he brushes his lips across Josh’s brow. 

“Hey, bro,” Chris says. “Sorry to wake you, but I gotta make these losers some pizza.”

Josh blinks, wincing from the glare of the TV. He realizes he’s purring and forces himself to stop. Matt and Mike are playing  _Mario Kart_  with the sound blaring but, fuck. If they hear him purr, they’ll be such fucking shits about it. Well. Mike will. Fuck Mike, basically. Josh still remembers being cold and delusional and afraid, staring down the barrel of a gun with Mike on the other end.

Fuck. Maybe this was a bad idea. There’s too much fucking bullshit human baggage. Josh isn’t equipped to deal with shit like this anymore. Or ever, really, but especially now. His life is hunting and sleeping and fucking. Uncomplicated. He doesn’t want to go back. 

“You with me, bro?”

Fuck. He’s vagued out on Chris, is just staring at the guy. Josh blinks and forces himself to break eye contact, to move back out of Chris’ zone. What had he said? Oh, right. Pizza. Yeah. He needs Josh to move so he can get to the kitchen. 

Josh must look like a dopey motherfucker, because Chris laughs and kisses him on the right side of his mouth. “Go back to bed,” he suggests, very close so the others don’t hear. “This is too early for you, bro.”

“’M fine,” Josh lies, even as he hears Mike call, “Get a room, dudes,” from the far side of the couch. 

“This  _is_  my room, assmunch,” Josh calls back, though more out of habit than malice. It earns him another laugh and a kiss from Chris. 

“Attaboy.” Then Chris goes to get pizza. This leaves Josh sitting next to Ashley for the three seconds it takes her to make eye contact, then drop her gaze, then call, “Wait. Chris. I’ll help,” and lurch up off the couch. Josh watches her go. 

“Psst. You’re growling.”

The voice is Sam’s, and she’s shuffled over, into the spot vacated by Chris and Ash. She’s smiling, hand held up to half-cover her mouth like a conspirator. 

“You shouldn’t growl at Ash,” she adds. “The jealous boyfriend look so does not work on you.”

“I am not growling,” Josh growls, and Sam laughs.

She reaches out, taking his claws in her hand. “C’mon. Play  _Mario Kart_  with me.” She pulls him closer, and Josh is hit with the overpowering scent of her. Chemical and sickly sweet, the lingering remains of shampoo and perfume, and still it doesn’t mask the rich meat underneath.

Josh is suddenly aware his mouth is watering. He’s maybe two seconds away from drooling which, yeah. Not happening. Not in front of everyone. He stands up, pulls his hand away from Sam’s. Maybe too quickly, judging by the startled look she gets, just half a second before she covers it over with a shaky smile.

“Josh?”

“Hungry,” he says. “I’ll… I’ll be back.”

“Josh!”

But he’s already vaulted over the back of the couch, then halfway across the room before she’s finished. There’s a bunch more startled shouts behind him and it only occurs to Josh when he hits the hallway that he’s running on all fours.

_Shit. Shit shit fuck shit._

The kitchen reeks when he gets there; cheese and pepperoni and torn-up basil. Things that, in another life, really would have him drooling, and now only leave him feeling slightly nauseous.

Ash notices him first, giving a startled yelp even as Josh barrels past her, into Chris. Chris who says, “Wha—? Josh?” Josh presses his teeth against Chris’ neck in response, breathing deep, filling his senses with Chris’ Chris-smell.

“Hey,” Chris says. “You okay, bro?”

“Hungry,” Josh says, because he doesn’t know how else to express it.

“Then eat something, you doofus.” Chris’ fingers find Josh’s chin, tilt Josh’s face up enough for Chris to kiss him on the (externally) toothless side of his mouth. 

Josh nods, eyes sliding closed. “Yeah,” he says. “That… That’s the plan, Cochise.” Things are okay. They are. Chris is here, Josh is fine. He can do this. He can spend a night not eating his friends.

He stands with Chris a moment longer, just enjoying the sensation. Then he takes a step back. Ash is watching him. She drops her eyes as soon as he spots her, and he can smell her blush halfway across the room. Josh ignores her, goes to raid the meat fridge instead. They have two fridges in the kitchen: the Meat Fridge, and the Chris Fridge. The Chris Fridge has the milk and the vegetables and the ice cream. Stuff like that. The meat fridge is self-describing. 

There’s a jug of raw blood on the top shelf and Josh chugs a good quarter of it in one go. It’s thick and cold and clotted, which honestly is his favorite. Raw and hot and thin is okay, too. Microwaved and reheated? No. Josh made that mistake exactly once. Chris was very polite about the stink. 

Behind him, he can hear Ashley whisper, “Is that…” Low enough she thinks he probably won’t hear. But Josh’s hearing is a lot better than it used to be. 

“Yeah,” Chris says, voice at normal volume. “It’s cool.”

Josh settles of grabbing a whole rabbit carcass out of the freezer, basically because fuck Ashley. It’s not a small rabbit—or maybe it’s a hare, Josh doesn’t know and doesn’t give a shit—and he dumps the whole thing on a plate with a clatter. Then he perches on one of the barstools on the far side of the kitchen island, and lets his teeth do the rest. 

Chris doesn’t even blink, not at the sound of tearing meat or cracking bone. Ashley does, then pretends she hasn’t. She’s making small talk with Chris, some bullshit thing about her family or whatever. Chris smiles at her, pushes at her gently when she teases him. Flirting. At least, Ash thinks they are; Josh can smell the want on her, the pining. He crushes the rabbit’s skull between his fangs and tells himself he’s not imagining it’s Ashley beneath his maw.  _The jealous boyfriend look so does not work on you._

Josh is so busy listening to the crunch of bones inside his head, that it takes him a moment to realize Chris is talking to him. “Huh?” he says, stupid around a mouthful of gore.

“Ash is going to France next year,” Chris repeats. “You’ve been, right?”

Josh swallows his chunk of rabbit, licks thawing blood away with his tongue. “Long time ago.” He shoots a look at Ashley. She won’t meet his eyes. 

“You went to that film thing with your dad, yeah?” Josh nods, so Chris continues, “Got any tips for Ash?”

Josh thinks about this for a moment. Honestly, most of what he remembers about France is being either wasted or hung over. Or involves his sisters, still too raw and too painful and too close to the people who…

Too close.

So Josh says: “Don’t go to Avignon. It’s a shithole.” Avignon, in Josh’s experience, is where the retired British middle class go to die. It’s like the Florida of Europe.

“Um,” says Ash. “Okay.” A pause, then, “What… what about Paris?”

“Paris is okay. Liked the Louvre, d’Orsay is better.” Josh spent hours with his sketchbook in both places, producing pages upon pages of worthless shit.

“Oh,” says Chris. “Right. Isn’t that where the Big Giant Head is from?” He turns to Ash. “You remember? That painting that’s up in the hall at Josh’s place?” He means Josh’s parents’ place. A place Josh will never see again. This is Josh's place, now. Josh's entire world.

Ash remembers the head. “That thing always gave me the creeps.”

“Akhenaten,” Josh says. Hallways upon hallways of near-identical looking Egyptian statues in the Louvre, as rigid and stylized as cartoons. And one guy who looked like exactly that; just a guy. Akhenaten had instituted monotheism and revolutionized art, and had been assassinated for his efforts. Josh had sketched the giant, broken-off statue of his head for like an hour, then had done a massive painting for Art class when he got home. Dad loved it.

“He’s a boss fight in  _The Secret World_ ,” adds Chris, Nerd Extraordinaire. 

“He's cool,” is Josh’s opinion. Josh who, in another life, spent hours designing a tattoo of the Aten, the sun disk. He never could settle on something sufficiently awesome. Nowadays, he’s not even sure his skin can be tattooed, let alone wants to spend time thinking about the irony. Fuck. Life is fucked up. 

“Do you still draw?” Ash is asking. 

Josh nods, cracking a rabbit leg between his teeth. “Sometimes. Chris got me one of those Pencil iPad things for my birthday.”

“Technically,” Chris says, “you bought you an iPad, and I wrote ‘happy birthday, love Chris’ on it.” Then, to Ashley in a stage whisper. “I can’t afford shit like that. Lucky my boyfriend’s rich.”

“What’s mine is yours, bro,” says Josh. “Gotta share the kills.” He doesn’t want to have this argument  _again_. Especially not in front of Ashley. 

“It’s so pretty up here,” Ashley says, painfully obviously trying to skirt around that minefield. “You must get a lot of inspiration.”

“Draw wendigo, mostly,” Josh says. Technically, this is true. 

“You draw yourself,” Chris says, cheerfully throwing cheese all over his pizzas. “The prettiest wendigo on the mountain.”

Ashley giggles. “You two are adorable,” she says. Chris grins, as bright and shining as the Aten. Josh just hunches into himself on the stool, and finishes tearing apart his rabbit.

* * *

“How are you holding up?”

Josh raises his head, sees Chris standing behind him in the bathroom mirror. “S’harder,” he says in reply. “’m managing.” His voice is slurred and muffled, his mouth open, floss stringing between his teeth. He can’t go back out with the others while sporting some serious rancid meat breath.

Chris smiles, hands settling on Josh’s waist, lips pressing kisses against Josh’s neck. “Let me know if it’s too much,” Chris says. “I’ll distract them and you can escape for a bit.” His stupid beard feels good against Josh’s neck, scratchy and real. Josh purrs his enjoyment, floss forgotten on the bathroom counter as he arches his neck. Chris chuckles, taking the half step forward so his hips press into Josh’s ass. “Or we could just do this,” Chris says. He palms the front of Josh’s jeans. 

“You fucking spoil me, bro.” Josh leans back against Chris’s chest, lets his eyes slide closed, rolls his hips in time to the squeezing of Chris’ fingers. It’s good. It’s always good, with Chris, and Josh loses himself in the warmth and the pressure. Or tries to. It’s hard when his mouth says: “Ashley wants to fuck you.”

The hand on his crotch gives a squeeze. “I know,” Chris says. “Does it bother you?”

“I wanna eat her.”

Another squeeze. “Don’t eat Ash, bro. I don’t have my hand on her dick.”

“Not sure she’s got one, Cochise.”

“You seen her naked some time I don’t know about?”

Josh gives a snort, not quite a laugh. “No." A pause, just the rub of Chris' warm hand and the churn of Josh's idiot brain, spitting out: "I got a lot of things she doesn’t. Like teeth that could bite your dick off.” Idiotic and bitter.  _Way to ruin the mood, bro._

Chris doesn't seemed ruined. “I like your teeth, bro.” He trails his fingers across them to demonstrate. 

“Bet Ash could suck you off.”

“Dude.” And, there it is. The exasperation. “I don’t wanna talk about Ashley right now.” Chris spins Josh, so they’re face to face. Then he’s dropping to his knees. “In fact,” Chris continues, “I don’t wanna talk at all.” The sound of Josh’s fly is harsh and metallic in the stone-tiled bathroom. He leans back, closes his eyes, grips his claws against the edge of the counter as Chris pulls out Josh’s dick and does the thing with his mouth that isn’t talking.

Josh goes with it, moan vibrating as it tries to share space with his purr, hips giving shallow little thrusts. Chris’ mouth is hot and soft and experienced. Or maybe Josh is experienced with Chris’ mouth; he isn’t sure how much has been him teaching Chris to give hella head, and how much of it is him learning to love the head Chris gives. Both thoughts are pretty fucking hot.

Hot like the way Chris pushes Josh’s jeans further down his thighs, just enough to reach between and start rubbing his fingers behind Josh’s balls. Josh makes another appreciative sound, feels himself getting wet down there. Not like a human would.

“Fuck,” he says. “Chris.” He threads his claws through Chris’ hair, all gross and waxy from the gel. He ignores the feeling, starts thrusting instead, hot and deep into Chris’ throat. Chris gives his own moan, and Josh feels the vibration down to his toes.

He’s coming not long after, the heat in his belly unfolding, making his limbs shake. Chris swallows every drop of cum, sucking until pleasure becomes pain and Josh whimpers from it. Then Chris is rocking back on his heels, glasses half-fogged, mouth split into a massive shit-eating grin like he’s just thought of the best sneaky plan in the universe. 

“What?” Josh says, maybe a bit harsher than he intends. But he’s muzzy and sex-doped from the orgasm. He doesn’t want to second-guess his boyfriend. He wants to cuddle.

He wants to lean back against the counter, sighing in pleasure, as Chris’ fingers slide back in behind his balls.

“Bro,” Josh says. “Rut’s over, bro.” Not that Josh wouldn’t be up for it. He just needs half an hour. 

But Chris only chuckles, withdrawing his fingers then rubbing them behind his ear. He repeats the process on the other side. Once, then twice. 

“Bro.” Josh’s eyes go very round. “Bro, are you…?”

“Eau de Washington,” Chris says, still grinning that shit-eating grin. He tucks Josh away, pulls up his jeans. Then Chris stands, and moves in for a kiss.

He tastes like Josh’s cum and smells like Josh’s property. Because, yeah. That’s a thing; Josh gets wet like a fucking girl because he’s got fucking scent glands now. On his feet, on his head. And behind his balls. The latter ones are the serious business shit. They smell like PROPERTY OF JOSHUA WASHINGTON DO NOT TOUCH written in forty-foot high neon letters. Now that’s what Chris smells like. That’s what Chris  _made himself_  smell like, claimed himself in Josh’s name. 

Fuck. Forget half an hour; Josh’s dick is twitching now.

“Fuck,” he growls, nose buried against Chris’ neck. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” says Chris. “Later.”

“Fuck.”

Another chuckle. “Yeah.”

“You smell so fucking good, bro.”

“I smell like you.”

“Fuck. Yeah. Why…?” Not that he’s not grateful. They spend so much time together, Chris always smells a bit like him. But Chris has never marked himself before, not so obviously and deliberately and… oh. Josh’s brain connects the dots. “This is about Ashley.”

Chris grins. “Not her piss I stink like, is it?”

“It’s not piss, bro.” Honestly, if Chris calls it that again, Josh  _will_  pee on him.

“Whatever.” Chris is unrepentant, running kisses up Josh’s throat as he talks. “Point is, Ash is my friend. She’s not gonna not be my friend. But you’re Josh, you’re my bro.” Here, Chris presses his forehead against Josh’s, holding them close and together, eyes looking into eyes. “Okay?” he asks. 

He’s so completely, earnestly serious. It should be silly, melodramatic and whatever, but it isn’t. It isn’t, because he’s saying “bro”, but they’re both hearing something else. Hearing and, in Josh’s case, smelling.

“Okay?” Chris repeats. 

Josh swallows, teeth clicking together as he does. Then he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Bros.”

“Wendibros,” Chris corrects, grinning. 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t eat Ash. I should eat you instead.”

“Damn straight,” Chris says, and kisses him.

* * *

Chris was right about one thing; Josh does “human up” as the night wears on. By midnight, he’s almost back to his old self, elbowing into Sam and Mike as they and Matt play  _Rayman_  more by attacking each other than the enemies.

Ash chats with Jess and Chris and Emily at the huge dining table on the split level above the lounge. She tries not to notice how close Chris’ thigh is to hers, how warm his skin is, how good he looks in his hipster mountain man beard. 

"So come on," Jess says at one point, leaning across the table with a half-drunk gleam in her eye. "Fess up. What's it like?"

Chris blinks at her, big and dumb and innocent. "Huh?"

"You know," Jess says, drawling it out. "With you and—" She gestures with her head to where Josh is being pushed off the lounge by a laughing Sam. 

"Josh?" says Chris. "Josh is Josh. We're bros."

"Yeah," Em says. "But he's not really, y'know. Just Josh anymore, is he?"

"Does he bite?" Jess asks, shameless. "I bet he bites."

"Dude, no!" Chris sounds scandalised. "If Josh bit, you'd know it, because I'd have fucking chunks missing."

Jess rolls her eyes. "He looked like he was going for it before. Like, nom! Right for the jugular." She mimes at Emily, who squeals and curls back. 

"Seriously." Is Chris blushing? God, he is. He's blushing. Ashley wonders, not for the first time, how a guy like Chris even exists. "He doesn't bite," Chris is saying. "And he doesn't scratch. None of that shit."

"You do fuck him though, right?" Jess again, utterly shameless. 

"Dude!"

Em makes a disgusted sound. "What even would be the point? No biting, no scratching. Ugh. You can get vanilla back back home." Ash tells herself Emily isn't looking her way while she says this. 

"Okay," says Chris, rising to the bait. "First of all, superhuman strength"—he holds up his fingers, ticking off the points like a list—"second, supernatural stamina. And third, the rut."

"The what?"

Ashley closes her eyes. She knows what rut is, even if Emily doesn't. 

"Mating season," Chris says. "Why do you think Josh grows antlers?"

"We kinda thought you were making that up," Jess admits. 

"They're right behind you, man!"

Ash looks, and so do Em and Jess. Sure enough, there's a shelf behind them and set out between the decorative bowls are an enormous pair of antlers.

"Oh, gross," is Jess' verdict. 

"You  _kept_  them?" is Em's. 

"This year's, yeah," says Chris. "Last year's we gave to Josh's mom."

"E-ee-ew."

Chris just shrugs. "I dunno, I guess it's like parents keeping baby teeth or whatever. Point being, Josh's antlers aren't the only things that get big during rut." He makes two gestures with his hands, one long, one round. 

"No fucking way," Jess says, giving a shrieking sort of laugh. 

"So you can be like, 'ugh, vanilla'"—Chris' impression of Em is terrible—"all you want. But remember there's vanilla, and there's eighteen times a day vanilla." He wriggles his eyebrows. 

"Fuck," says Emily. 

"How long did you say this lasts for, again?" asks Jess. 

"Most of spring and the start of summer. End of spring's the really, uh, intense time, though." Chris gives a wave of his hand, as if all this is perfectly normal. "The antlers drop off in early fall. About a week ago, in fact."

"No shit." Jess looks between Chris and the antlers again. "I dunno. I'm still not buying it…"

Chris shrugs. "Why do you think Josh's grown his hair out? He's got these two, like, bony bits"—Chris points to either side of his own head, about two inches back from the hairline—"where the antlers come through. If you're  _real_  nice to him, he might let you see them."

Jess gives a flirty grin, all white teeth and pink lips. She's leaning forward, arms pushing her cleavage together, about to make some joking comment. It's about then that the shrieking starts.


	3. “I’m sorry. I think I make a shitty Chris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You will not do it, but you don't know what you're doin' baby.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nOGy52xygY)

“What the hell was that?”

The mood in the room changes so fast Josh can smell it; the sick-sour stench of fear leeching from the humans. The shrieking outside comes again, Sam’s fingers gripping tight on Josh’s arm in response. 

She looks at him, eyes big and wide. She starts to say something, then cuts it off with a scream as something slams itself against the opaque window.

“Dude, whoa. What was that?” Chris, who’s come jogging back into the room, girls in tow. 

The thump comes again, accompanied by another shriek. It’s muffled through the double-glazing, but: “Think it’s Zelda.”

“Zelda?” Chris looks confused.

“Dude. Dude, what the  _fuck_  was that? Was that… was that what I fuckin’ think it is?”

“I’ll handle it.” Josh stands, ignores the clamoring protests from Mike. Because, yeah. That’s the thing. He’s pretty sure Chris hasn’t told everyone about the other wendigo. He’s pretty sure Chris hasn’t, and he hasn’t, and, well. They were maybe hoping it wouldn’t be an issue. 

It’s an issue. Josh throws open the sliding door to the balcony, to an assortment of squeals and complaints and one Chris, saying, “It’s okay, Josh’ll handle it.”

Josh will handle it, where “it” does, indeed, turn out to be a wendigo. It cowers backwards at Josh’s appearance, whimpering, claws folded and belly showing.

“ _Is_  that Zelda?” Chris, who has trouble differentiating the wendigo. It’s obvious to Josh, but mostly by smell, so he’s not gonna blame Chris for his difficulty.

“Yeah,” says Josh, because it is. He scowls, takes a step forward, watches Zelda scamper backwards. 

“Why’s she up at the house? Was she trying to get in?” Chris says, or tries to. It’s difficult with six other people freaking out behind him, trying to get him away from the door. 

Josh isn’t sure. Zelda’s a small female. Young. As far as Josh can tell, this is her first season out of the mines. She also really, really wants to get to the Bone Zone with Josh. This is not happening, like, ever. But Josh is a nice guy, so he lets her hang out on the edge of his territory, so long as she doesn’t come near Chris or the lodge. 

“Holy shitfuck it’s a fucking wendigo! I thought we blasted all those fucking monsters off the face of the fucking planet!” Mike, peering just around the doorframe. 

“Fuck you, dickhole,” says Josh. “I’m standing right fucking here.” Zelda must sense his annoyance, because she hisses in Mike’s direction. Pissed off or not, Josh can’t allow that, and lunges at her in response, all claws and teeth and shrieking.

“Fuck!”

“Dude, calm down. It’s fine.”

“Fuck you it’s fine! It’s not fucking fine! That’s a fucking wendigo!”

Josh ends up perched on the balcony railing. Zelda is on the ground below, still cowering, eyes averted and throat and belly exposed. Josh doesn’t get why she won’t leave. 

“Bro?” Chris, apparently sick of arguing with Mike. Zelda’s coin-bright eyes flash towards him, then lower again. Still submissive, still deferential. Weird. “What does she want?” 

Josh scowls. “Dunno, Cochise. Thought she woulda run off when I rushed her.”

“Um, guys? I-is there something you want to tell us?”

They turn. Sam is standing in the doorframe, Mike scowling over her shoulder, the others clustering behind. Chris swears, softly.

Josh says: “There are other wendigo on the mountain.”

This news goes down about as well as expected, which is to say not at all. There’s a lot of “why didn’t you tell us?” and “we wouldn’t be here if” that Josh has no interest in confronting. He leaves Chris to deal with it, instead leaping down off the railing to where Zelda is still cowering. He circles her. Not threatening, but not inviting either. Not even when she slides up to him on her belly, purring as she leans up to press her teeth against his throat. 

“Hey!” comes Chris’ shout from the balcony. “I saw that! Keep your teeth off my boyfriend!” Which prompts another round of concerned chatter from the others. 

Zelda might not understand Chris’ words, but she understands the sentiment, understands the need to get in good with the alpha’s primary mate. So she backs off, body language still submissive and non-threatening.

Josh trills at her, curious. Then Zelda opens her mouth, and a woman’s scream comes out.

“’No! No, you can’t leave me here! No, please! Oh god, please no please please!’”

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Zelda’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes flicking up to where everyone has suddenly appeared at the balcony railing, looking over in horror. She gives half a growl, the chokes it off, eyes flicking to Josh then back again. Her claws open and close, her posture tense. Then:

“’Fuck, it’s a big one.’” A man’s voice, this time. “’Do you think this’ll work?’” Make that two men. “’Get the knife. Won’t know until we try it.’”

“Holy fuck,” Chris says. “Is she… is she replaying a conversation?”

“Yeah,” says Josh. He’s sitting back on his haunches, and he dips his head, trilling. 

“There’s someone on the mountain?”

Zelda’s young. She shouldn’t have encountered humans before.

Josh approaches her, sniffs at her neck. She smells like wendigo, but also: “Perfume. There’s someone here  _now_.”

“Alive?”

Josh shrugs. Zelda knows she’s got his interest now. She starts moving back a little, then returns to him, then moves back again. 

“Think she wants you to follow, bro.”

“Yeah.” Josh can’t smell blood. He hopes that’s a good sign. “Be back in a bit.”

Josh gets two hops before he hears Mike say, “Wait. I’m coming too.”

“Dude, I wouldn’t,” says Chris, at the same time as Emily exclaims, “Are you crazy?”

“No, man,” Mike says. “I mean, think about it. Some chick’s stuck up on this shithole mountain and Washington here comes barreling out of the shadows, what’s she gonna think?”

“Fuck you, dickhole,” growls Josh. This time, when Zelda growls—very quietly—he lets her. 

“Oh, right,” Emily says. “’Cause sending in the bro squad is gonna be so much less scary for some girl alone in the night.”

“What the fuck you talking about?” Mike, oblivious as usual. Josh wouldn’t call himself an expert on human interaction, but he had sisters. He knows what Em is getting at. 

“Then I’ll go too.” So does Sam.

“Oh, sure.” Jess throws her arms up. “Let’s all go for a midnight hike on Wendigo Mountain. That worked out so-oo-oo fucking well the last two times!”

“Mike and Sam,” Josh says. “Everyone else stay here. Chris—”

“On it, bro,” Chris says. Josh can hear the beep of an electronic lock and the heavy thud as the gear crate is cracked open. There’s one next to every external door. Flares and shotguns, mostly. 

It takes them about ten minutes to get kitted out and ready. Josh is standing, leaning on the support for the balcony when Sam and Mike trot down the stairs. Zelda is pacing, restless, unsure about the delay, but Josh keeps trilling to calm her.

“Don’t tell me you speak fucking wendigo, now,” Mike says when he notices. 

“Yeah,” Josh says. “I do. Now hold still and don’t be weird about this.” Then he grabs Mike by the shoulders, and rubs himself all down the guy’s front. 

“What the  _fuck_!” Mike is, in fact, weird about it, jumping back like Josh is on fire. From the balcony, Chris isn’t even bothering to stifle his laughter. 

“You wanna get eaten or not?” Josh hopes it’s dark enough that no one can see him blushing. It’s not like he wants to rub his scent all over Mike, fuck.

“Option B is he pisses on you,” Chris calls. 

“Did you fucking  _scent mark_  me?” Mike says. “Dude, that is fucked up!”

“You’re either the alpha’s or you’re food, Munroe,” says Chris. “Just deal with it.”

“Fuck off you’re anyone’s ‘alpha’, Washington!”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Mike. Don’t come if you’re going to be a baby about it.” She steps forward, opening her arms to Josh. “Safety hug?” she says.

It’s easier with Sam, because she’s not a fucking dickhole like Munroe is. (“Hashtag, masculinity so fragile” is Ash’s opinion, from up in the peanut gallery.) Sam just giggles when Josh rubs his forehead against her, exclaiming, “Oh god you  _are_  like a giant cat!”

“Tell anyone and I’ll eat you,” says Josh. 

“Sorry. I think they’re all filming from the balcony already.”

Josh laughs, Chris says, “Bro, I’m not sure I’m okay with this.” But he’s laughing too, and Josh flips him off. Payback, he thinks. Now they’re even. Not that Josh wants to bone his sister’s ex but, still. 

It’s weird, touching someone who isn’t Chris. Sam smells like food and being near her drives Josh’s ravenous wendigo-self crazy even as his human-self craves a softer kind of contact. He huffs, makes himself step away from her. She’s giving him a sad sort of smile as he does, her hands lingering against his. Sam is hella lesbo so it’s not like she wants to take him to the Bone Zone either. But they have known each other a long time, and Josh supposes he’s really her only link back to Beth.

There are a bunch of memories, bubbling somewhere just beneath the surface. Josh doesn’t want to unearth them, not tonight, not any night. “Let’s roll,” he says instead. “This chick’s not gonna save herself.” He approaches Zelda, who’s watching with bright-eyed interest, mouth half-open, sniffing at Mike and Sam. Josh trills, encouraging, and Zelda starts to move. He follows, the humans coming up the rear, red flashlights carefully pointed down. Chris must’ve given them the 411 upstairs.

They walk. Maybe ten minutes, until the lights of the house are lost in the forest behind them. Then:

“I can’t believe it’s a fucking wendigo.” Mike shifts his grip on his shotgun. 

“Zelda,” Josh says. 

“You gave it a fucking  _name_?”

“Chris did.” All the wendigo are named after video game characters, which is Chris’ work. If Josh had gotten there first the names would’ve been things like “Lugosi” and “Ripley”.

“And she’s a girl?” Sam asks. She’s studying Zelda intently, albeit keeping Josh between herself and her object of interest. 

“Yeah.”

“How can you tell, man?” asks Mike. 

“I dunno,” Josh says. “How can you tell Sam’s a girl?” What a stupid fucking question. 

“Sam’s got tits,” Mike points out, much to Sam’s exclaimed annoyance. “Don’t see any on that thing.”

Josh thinks for a moment. “She smells different,” he says. “And she doesn’t grow antlers.” Even Chris can tell the difference during rut.

“Who… who was she?” Sam asks. 

“No one,” Josh says. “She’s a Nat.”

“A ‘nat’?”

“Natural-born wendigo. Think her mom is Peach.” One of the older females. Josh doesn’t see her much; she mostly hangs out in the mines, eating bats and whatever. 

“No way,” Mike says. “No fucking way you telling me these things breed.”

“Why would we have a mating season if we didn’t, asshole.” To be fair, wendigo don’t breed well, if the population rate’s anything to go by. But they certainly breed. Josh has seen babies, in the mines, hanging off their hissing mothers’ chests.

“Dude. What’s with the ‘we’, man. Stop saying ‘we’ when you’re talking about those fucking monsters.”

Josh stops so suddenly Sam nearly runs into him. He turns, rounding on Mike to shove the toothy side of his mouth right up in the assmuncher’s face.

“’Dude. What’s with the “we”, man’,” Josh mimics. “’Stop saying “we” when you’re talking about those fucking monsters.’”

Mike takes a step back, then another, at the sound of his own voice, coming out of Josh’s throat. “No way,” he says. “No fucking way.”

Josh feels his claws flex, feels the growl in the back of his throat. Feels Hannah’s claws like ghosts curling around his heart, beat like the sound of Mike’s footsteps in the mines. The fucker ran. He left Josh, and he ran, and:

“Fuck you, Munroe. You did this to me, you piece of shit. You killed my sisters and you fucking left me to fucking die. The least you can do is fucking own it.”

Mike’s brow falls into a scowl, dumb pretty boy face distorting into something ugly. “Hey. Fuck  _you_. Don’t you pin your psycho shit on me! None of us would be in this mess if you’d just stayed on your fucking meds like a good little—”

Josh lunges, roaring. Fucking Mike. Fucking sociopathic sister-killing piece of shit!

Mike’s fist hits Josh in the toothy side of the face, but it barely registers. The taste of blood does. Mike’s blood, his hand torn open against the edge of Josh’s fangs. Just a drop, but it’s like an explosion on Josh’s tongue, rich and hot and  _satisfying_ , satiating in a way no deer or rabbit could ever be. Josh wants more. He’s on top of Mike in the dirt, Mike’s struggling but he’s just a stupid fucking human. So fucking  _weak_ , and all Josh has to do is open his maw and—

There’s a cracking hiss that’s the only warning Josh gets. Then his entire world explodes into pain, pain and light. He rears back, howling, feels something heavy connect with his solar plexus that knocks the breath out of him and sends him crashing to the dirt. A shadow passes over him, hissing and reeking like death, and somewhere Josh hears the snap of a shotgun and a, “Fuck. Fucking fuck I—”

“No!”

“Get out of the way, Sam!”

“Put it away, Mike! You put that away right now or so help me!”

“It attacked me! You fucking saw it, you—”

“I saw you being a dipshit, is what I saw. Now. Put. The gun. Away.”

Then there’s silence, long and awful in the blinding brightness. Then a shift of fabric. 

Sam sighs, one big rushing, terrified exhale. Josh hears her move, hears, “Whoa, easy girl. Easy.”

“Fuck, Sam, don’t—” Mike starts, but Sam ignores him. Josh feels her a moment later, just a feather-light touch on his leg. 

“Josh?” she says. “Josh, sorry about the light. Are you okay? I’m sorry Mike’s an asshole.” As if it’s somehow her fault. 

Josh can still taste Mike’s blood. Can still smell where more of it is standing, not ten feet away, warm and hot and  _just a little bite. No one will ever know. You can say it was Zelda, that Mike ran and—_

Josh throws up. It’s sudden, and awful, and stinks like rotting blood. It leaves him shaking and crying, body wracked by violent retching long after his stomach has emptied, but at least the bile masks the taste of Mike. 

“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. It’s okay now.”

Warm hands on his shoulders, a soft presence by his side. Josh keens in misery, buries his face against wool and cotton that smells almost right except for how it doesn’t. He wants Chris, the longing harsh and powerful enough that it’s like a physical blow. Chris would know what to do, would kiss Josh’s brow and call him bro and tell him everything was okay and—

Sam gives a sad laugh. “I’m sorry. I think I make a shitty Chris.” A pause, then, voice deepened, “Bro.”

Josh isn’t even aware he’s mimicking Chris’ voice out loud until she says it. “Fuck,” he says in response, in his own voice. “Fuck.” He sniffs, realizing he’s leaving snot and tears and bloody vomit-spit all over Sam’s top. 

“I’m going to put the flare out now,” Sam says. Mike protests. Sam ignores it, and a moment later there’s a hiss as she grinds it into the dirt. Then the dark returns.

Josh pulls back, out of Sam’s personal space. He hears Mike swear, probably because of the eye thing. Josh blinks away the silver film, color rushing back into the world. (Mostly red, from the torches. Josh tries not to think of it as symbolic.)

There’s a concerned trill to his left. Zelda, who’s put herself between Josh and Mike. Josh will think about her later, or will tell Chris and make him think about it. For now, he’s just glad no one got eaten. 

He tries not to remember the taste of Mike’s blood on his tongue. Fuck. If his hair starts falling out, he is never speaking to that piece of shit Munroe ever again.

Josh sniffs, wipes his face on his own sleeve. Zelda butts her head against his side, which worries Sam given how close they are. For once, Josh doesn’t push Zelda away. Fuck it. She’s been good, so he rubs his fingers across her scalp, the skin beneath his touch rough and cold and strange. 

“Is that you or her?” Sam says, eyes wide, voice barely a whisper. 

“Both,” says Josh. Sam means the purring. He does it when he’s upset just as often as when he’s happy. It’s a pain to try and stop, so he doesn’t bother. 

Instead, he stands, offering a hand to Sam as he does. His head aches and he’s hungry and feels like shit, but fuck they’re out here for a reason. “Let’s get this done,” he says. “I want to fucking go home.” Zelda rubs her head against his palm. Josh allows it, trilling softly, mostly for the absolutely horrified look Mike gives him in return. Fuck Mike, basically. Josh will take Zelda over Mike any day.

The rest of the walk is… tense. To put it mildly. Zelda keeps leaping forward, then doubling back, staring at Josh and making quizzical noises. Wondering why he doesn’t get down on all fours and run with her. “Sam”, is the answer to that question. She walks close, then arm-in-arm with Josh when she trips over a tree root and he catches her. She’s warm and smells good. Not Chris-level good, but close. 

“I wouldn’t want to make your wendigirl jealous,” Sam says, trying for the joke, threading her arms around Josh’s. Josh just snorts, trilling encouragingly the next time Zelda looks his way. He tries to ignore the heavy  _clomp clomp_  of Mike’s boots behind them.

“You know,” Sam says, “I guess I never really thought of wendigo having, like, a social structure before.”

Josh shrugs. “Talk to Chris,” he says. “He gets all Jane Goodall about this shit.”

“Probably just enjoying his position as your alpha mate.” Josh gives her a toothy grin, and Sam nudges playfully into him. “So you’re the boss of the mountain, huh? Get all the girls?”

“Ugh. Don’t start.”

“I dunno,” Sam says, grin wicked. “Zelda seems nice. Big sharp teeth, tough leathery skin. And I’m pretty sure she likes you.”

“I’ll eat you,” Josh says.

“I mean,” Sam continues, undeterred, “there’s Chris to consider, but, I dunno. He always plays at being this big innocent ball of fluff, but I’m not buying it.”

Josh can feel the grin, even through his teeth. “He’s dirtier than a fucking McDonald’s kitchen and kinkier than a gossip’s telephone cord.” A pause. “Don’t tell him I told you.”

Sam laughs, too bright and too loud in the darkness, but Josh isn’t going to stop her. “Seriously,” she says. “I’m so happy for you two. You’ve been so close for so long. Hannah always… always used to say…” She trails off. Then, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill her.”

Sam stops, arms dropping from Josh’s. When Josh turns to look at her, she’s looking at Mike. Up ahead, Zelda makes another irritated huff. 

“Oh, god,” Sam says, to Mike. “I…”

Mike’s gaze flicks to Josh. “It’s fine,” he says. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Nothing,” says Mike, at the same time Sam blurts, “I did. I d-did kill… I. Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t… It’s just… We didn’t know what else to do!”

Josh blinks. Once, twice. He doesn’t know how else to respond. “Sam?”

“What did Chris tell you,” Mike says. “About what happened. After…”

“After you left me in the mines to die?” No way is Josh letting Mike get away with an ellipses there.

“Yes, jerkhole,” Mike snarls. “After that. Jesus.”

“I… He said Hannah died in the explosion. When the lodge blew up.”

“Did he say how the lodge blew?”

“He…” Josh starts, then realizes he has nowhere to go. Because, no. No, Chris did not. Not specifically, anyway. 

“It was us,” Sam says. “Oh, God. Josh. I’m so sorry, I—”

“Hannah was chasing us,” Mike says. “There were others… it was a mess. We think she knocked open the gas main. We could smell it, and… and you know how wendigo are with fire.” Mike sighs. “I broke a lightbulb, used the spark as the ignition. Boom.”

Josh feels… empty. Mike is saying words and Josh feels empty. He knew Hannah died in the fire. He didn’t know how. “You meant to… to kill her.”  _This time_  he adds, just to himself. He can’t look at either of them, flicks over his eyes so he doesn’t have to. They’re so still, everything just blurred over into a haze. He hears Sam start to sob, feels Zelda push against his hand. He wonders if maybe she’s right. He could just run. Go with her into the mountain, leave all this human bullshit behind. Fuck.

“Look, dude,” Mike is saying. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I… if I could go back and change things, I would. But I can’t, okay. I just… I fucking  _can’t_.”

Josh runs a hand across Zelda’s scalp, down her neck and across her shoulders. Her purr is as loud as a motorcycle. She doesn’t know what’s going on, Josh doubts she even has the capacity to care. All she knows is she’s getting affection from Josh. All Josh knows is she could’ve been Hannah, had things not turned out the way they had.

He could still have had a sister. Changed, but still a sister. His memories of Hannah as she was at the end aren’t great, too overlaid by delusions. He thinks she was bigger than Zelda, more aggressive. But she could’ve killed Josh in the mines, could’ve killed Mike. She hadn’t done either. Josh wants to convince himself there was something left of her, something angry and hurt, but reachable. 

He supposes it doesn’t matter, now. His sisters are gone. They aren’t coming back. 

“Josh?” Mike says. “Say something, dude. Anything.” He moves, just a shift from foot to foot.

“What’s there to say?” Josh decides on. “My sister’s are dead. I’m a fucking cannibal monster. Being sorry’s not gonna fix shit.” He turns, starts walking again, hand still resting against the bony lumps of Zelda’s spine. 

“Josh!” Footsteps, and the smell of Sam, catching up to him. “Josh, please. I’m sorry. I never meant—”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m done talking.” Talking is a human thing. Josh wonders, not for the first time, what good being human ever did for him. A delusional depressive alcoholic teen brat with two sisters he couldn’t save and a mad scheme for a vengeance that wouldn’t bring them back. As a wendigo, he has as much venison as he can catch and as much Chris as he can fuck. He wants to do both right now; sink his dick into Chris or his teeth into a deer, feel the hot splash of blood, of cum, down his throat. He’s doesn’t think that’s too much to ask. 

Ahead, Zelda stops. She hunches into a half-pounce, gives out a series of low, anxious keens. Wherever she wants to bring them, they seem to have arrived. 

“Why’d we stop?” Mike asks. “This the place?” Then, loud enough for the whole forest to hear: “Hello? Is there anyone there? We’re friendly, I swear.”

Josh shares a look with Zelda,  _Fuck Mike, basically._  He gets a low, affirmative keen in response.

She still won’t move forward, just crouches, tense and coiled. Sniffing the air. Josh does the same. He smells what’s wrong instantly.

“Shit.”

“Josh?” Sam says, but Josh is already scurrying forward, on all fours, into the undergrowth. Not two yards away, half-hidden behind a fallen tree trunk, the ground drops away. Not far, maybe five feet. Just enough to form a natural little box canyon. The smell’s coming from the closed-off end. When Josh sees what’s there, he feels like someone’s running cold fingers up his spine.

“Josh! Josh, what— Oh my god.” Sam bursts through the undergrowth next to him, and Josh has to throw out a claw to stop her falling headfirst into the canyon. That isn’t what causes her exclamation, nor the retching from her throat.

“Is that…?”

“Link.” It’s hard to see under the gore, but Josh would know the smell of that blood anywhere. Link is, was, another male. Young like Zelda, bigger and well-fed. He spent the last rut challenging Josh for territory, and for Zelda. Josh was happy for him to take the latter, not so much the former, which is how he knows the smell of the guy’s blood. He’s spilled enough of it in the past. 

Not this much.

Link has been field dressed. Cut clean up the sternum, organs removed and left in a pile. Josh starts to get a sneaking suspicion of what will be missing. 

“Oh, ew. Gross. This is not what I came out here to see.” Mike, standing next to Sam. From Josh’s other side, Zelda continues to make low, keening sounds of distress. Grieving, Josh realizes. She’s grieving for Link. He makes the same noise in return, bumping his head against her shoulder in sympathy.

“Did… another wendigo do this?” Sam asks.

“No,” Josh says. There’s only one wendigo on the mountain who’d do something like this, and Josh didn’t.

He drops down into the canyon, despite Zelda’s protests. Closer, the place smells like gunpowder and Axe. Definitely humans. Male humans, and Josh remembers the voices Zelda echoed back at the house. He feels something strange begin to unfurl inside him. Something hot and dark. Something angry.

There are intruders on his mountain. Uninvited. And they’re here killing wendigo. 

“Look at this.” Sam, still on the ridge above, holding up coils of bloodied rope. 

“What the hell happened here?” Mike says. He’s slid his way down the canyon wall, is currently scowling at the carnage. Josh wonders what the revulsion he’s feeling is for; whether he actually gives a shit about a murdered wendigo or just doesn’t like the mess. 

Josh ignores Mike, leaps up the side of the canyon wall to Sam instead. He sniffs at the rope, feels the growl in the back of his throat. The rope smells like perfume, the same perfume Josh smelled on Zelda. 

“Josh?” asks Sam. 

“I think,” Josh says, “someone got used as bait.”

“Oh my god.”

Once he knows what he’s looking for, it doesn’t take him long to find the blind. Mostly because it, too, reeks of Axe. Axe, and cheap beer. Two men, using one screaming woman as bait, bagging themselves one wendigo as prey. Except:

“If they were hunting, why leave the body?” Mike again.

“They didn’t,” Josh says. “Not all of it. They took the piece they wanted.”

“Which was what?”

“The heart.” The one organ conspicuously missing from the pile.

Mike makes a disgusted face, turning back to the pile of offal. It smells like shit. Literally; whomever did the dressing burst the intestine.

“Um, guys?” Sam says. “That’s gross, but I think we’ve got a bigger problem. What happened to the girl?”

 


End file.
